


Lost & Found

by Michelle221b



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Family, John is a woobie, M/M, Minor Character Death, Out of Character, Post Reichenbach, Slash, Surprises, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-25
Updated: 2012-05-25
Packaged: 2017-11-05 23:29:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 17,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/412216
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Michelle221b/pseuds/Michelle221b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John is dealing with the loss of Sherlock and eventually marries Mary.  When his wife suddenly dies, John is left alone and devastated.  Just when he loses all hope of ever being happy again, Mycroft shows up with a mystery.  Is Sherlock really dead?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Sherlock Holmes and the gang belong first and foremost to Sir Arthur Conan Doyle. Secondarily they belong to BBC, Steven Moffat and Mark Gatiss. No copyright infringement is intended. And definitely no money was made as a result of this fan fiction. (This can be verified by how much money or lack thereof there is in my accounts…go ahead Big Brother you can look.) For entertainment purposes only…well that is the intent any way.
> 
> Author Warnings: Contains slash, in other words a homosexual relationship. Rated somewhere between R and NC-17. I suck at creating chapters, so yeah sorry about that. This story may also contain some OC (Out of Character) components. Also, this story has not been Brit-picked. I did the best I could, but I’m sure some of my American is showing. : )

There were many things John Watson felt about his best friend Sherlock Holmes. On top of that list was how absolutely lost and alone he was without the crazy git. Sherlock's death had shattered him. The fact that he had never told his flatmate that he loved him was something that shamed him so deeply that he thought he would carry the ache deep in his chest for all of eternity. It didn’t really matter that he hadn’t realized it until after the man had died.  Sherlock's death had been the worst experience in his life, even worse than the war and it took what seemed like forever for him to feel like he was alive again. Mary had been a huge part of his recovery. They had just started dating when Sherlock was being persecuted in the press and facing false allegations of fraud. Mary had said she never trusted anything the press had to say and told John to trust his instincts. "You obviously trust him. He's your best friend. I can tell you are an excellent judge of character, Dr. Watson" she had smirked and put her hand on his clenched fist, "that's why you are dating me. I'm a great catch." She was right. She had been right about so many things. After Sherlock died Mary was his rock. When he would cry in the middle of the night she would rub his back silently. And when he would show up to her place with a pack of Sherlock's cigarettes she wouldn't bat an eye. He would light them just to remember the smell. The pain eased with time and John carried on like the good soldier he had been born to be. He had to keep living. Mary reminded him that it’s what Sherlock would have wanted.

Love developed slowly. It wasn't the crazy passion he had felt for Sherlock. They were a normal couple. They had romantic dinners. Sometimes they would play cards or go to a show. She would make him tea and they would sit and watch telly. It was all very sweet. He felt warmth slowly enter back into his chest. She had told him she loved him first. And then he officially moved into her flat. He couldn't let her move in at 221B. It wouldn't be right. The place was his and Sherlock's. No one else could ever be there with him. Mycroft paid the rent, as if it was reparation.  John left everything the way it was when Sherlock had died.  It had turned into a shrine. He kept the key on a chain with his dog tags, and never took it off.

One day he asked Mary to marry him. It was what everyone expected of him and he needed the stability of having someone. Permanently. She wasn't who he really wanted, but he did love her and he couldn't have who he wanted anyway. John had always been a practical man. If you can't be with the one you love, well…marry someone else who you love a bit and adopt a dog. It was the same breed that Sherlock had wanted. He never told Mary that.

When Mary suddenly died of a brain aneurysm, John felt like a man that had been hollowed out. Sherlock took the first half of his heart and his Mary took the rest. At Mary's funeral he saw someone he hadn't seen in years. Standing too tall and too straight to be one of the mourners. He narrowed his eyes and frowned. Everyone had gone to their cars to go to the repast and John had lingered near the grave. Mary's parents had tried to make him leave with them but he had said he needed one last moment alone with his wife. When all the mourners had left, he turned his head and looked the intruder in the eye.

"Mycroft. Why are you here?"

"To offer my condolences." He replied in his typically politic way.

"Right. Okay better question. What do you want?"

"Always so blunt. John. That's what we always liked about you." Mycroft chuckled.

"It always saves time and apparently there’s not enough of that in life. What do you mean by we?" John asked as he shoved his hands deep into his coat's pockets.

"Sherlock and I of course. " Mycroft tilted his head and inspected the total desolation in the good doctor's eyes. The sadness he saw in John's eyes made him want to reach out and comfort the younger man. When he reached a hand out to place on the doctor's shoulder. John nearly growled.

"Don't you dare. I still blame you... just so we are clear. I don't think I can ever ...ever forgive you. I know you didn't push him off that ledge. But your actions allowed Moriarty into our lives. Now that's said and done, let me reiterate: What. Do. You. Want?" John was livid and red in the face with anger.

Mycoft put his hands up in a surrendering gesture. "Dr. Watson. I had assumed you knew. We shouldn't do this here. No. I was unaware of the situation...I will send a car for you tomorrow."

"Mycroft..."

As the man turned to walk away with a swagger that reminded John too much of Sherlock, Mycroft said to the fuming doctor, "Don't worry I know the address."


	2. Chapter 2

John was in a haze. There was a sea of black clothes and bleak faces in the Morstan's too cramped and entirely too warm cottage. Everyone had come to the repast; Family, friends, co-workers, neighbors, Mary's former students and their parents, their number was simply too large to count. Sherlock would have known how many people were there. It was something he would have done. Somehow he would have calculated it and when John would have complained about saying the crowd was too large to count he would have scoffed and flippantly given the number out. They would have argued about how Sherlock was being insensitive and that John was being too emotional. John shook his head at the thoughts. He shouldn't be mourning Sherlock right now. This was Mary's repast. He needed to be present for it. He watched his in-laws mill around the room reminiscing with others about Mary and accepting tearful hugs. Many people had approached him too, but it seemed out of propriety. They didn't seem to know what to say to him other than general condolences. Who were all these people and why did it seem like they knew his wife better than he had? With some introspection he reasoned that he had been relatively a newcomer to Mary's life and most of his experiences with her were about her helping him glue his life back together. He suddenly felt as if he had been a selfish arse.

It was too much and he felt as if he was suffocating. He slipped his way out of the back part of the house and sat down on a garden bench. He pulled out Sherlock's cigarettes and lit one. He took a deep puff and held back the cough. Mycroft showing up at the burial threw him a curve ball. He was already sick with sadness, now he had the anxiety of not knowing what bullshit Mycroft Holmes was going to throw his way. He had to clear his head so he took another pull on the cancer stick.

He heard someone approaching but decided he didn't care to turn around and see whom it was. He watched the smoke he had just exhaled swirl into nothingness and felt like his soul and the evaporating chemicals were one in the same.  
"You shouldn't smoke. It’s bad for your health. You are a doctor, you know better." A feminine soft voice said as its owner sat close to John.

John turned around and offered a shrug, "I'm already dead. Hey Harry."

"Hey big brother." She replied and quickly snatched the cigarette from his hand and took a long drag.

She put the fag out on the bottom of her heels and sternly said, "You're not dead. Not really. But I'm sure you feel like it. Trust me I've been where you are."

"You checking up on me? Do you think I'm gonna slit my wrists or take pills or some shit."

Harry cocked her head to the side and looked at him as if he had grown another head. He had never spoken roughly to her before. He had always treated her like she was some glass figurine as if he were ever too mean to her she would fracture and relapse. "No, I'm going for supportive. You aren't the suicidal type anyway...not that way. You and I are opposites, if I were you I would go out in a blaze of tequila shots. Nah, big bro, you’re the type to just stoically fade into the distance."

John chuckled and then began to laugh heartily. Harriet Watson looked at him as if he had really lost it. "Umm John,” she uttered.

"Oh you really had my number there. You are right. About four years ago, certainly I would have done that. But then I met Sherlock and he taught me that I was much braver than that. That I am stronger than that. I can still hear his voice in my head telling me that I was one of the most capable people he knew and other things, silly things like how long it takes for a shallow cut to heal. I smoke these to remember his smell. I play CDs of violinists but none of them compare to his playing. I dream about him and in those dreams I am not an idiot who didn't realize that I loved him before it was too late. And how fucked up is it that I realize that the reason I am still here at all is that I am still holding out hope that he is alive out there somewhere and I realize this at my wife's fucking repast!"

He wipes away his tears and leans his head on his sister's shoulder. Harry leans her head on top of his and asks in a shocked whisper, "You loved him?"

John shook his head softly and replies, "I love him. I always will."

Harry put her arms around her brother and rocked him in a gentle sway. Then she let out a loud exhale, "Shit, John. You sure know how to pick them."

John pulled away from her and looked in her blue eyes and smiled, "Yeah, I know right?"


	3. Chapter 3

John received a text in the morning that stated that he was to meet Mycroft at his club at noon and the car would pick him up at 11: 30. He wasn't thrilled to say the least. He wandered around the flat he and his wife had shared and wondered how long he could remain there. When Sherlock died he couldn't wait to move out of 221B, it was too hard to sit there and expect Sherlock to just walk through the door. Even though he knew he never would again. He was experiencing a similar experience now. He mildly considered taking Harry up on her offer to stay with her and Clara. He was hesitant to crowd them since they had just gotten back together. He had said he would think about it. Now that he was sitting in this empty flat alone with only his thoughts and pain, he had to admit there was merit in the idea of leaning on family in his time of need. He reached inside of his shirt and touched the key that was nestled against his dog tags and took deep breaths.

He spent the rest of the morning petting Gladstone and watching the clock in the kitchen slowly tick away to the time he had to leave. He slowly got up and walked to the living room and glanced at the cane in the corner of the room. His leg had begun to bother him again and he knew it was all in his head as Sherlock had deduced years ago. The crutch was symbolic—a result of his emotional pain, and internal fragility. He had never thought of himself as the type to scream out to the world his feelings but apparently that's what his mind wanted to do. Using the cane was telling the world that he was permanently maimed. And wasn't that the truth? Sherlock's voice entered his head, "You are stronger than you think." He left the cane and locked the door.

The government-issue vehicle was there awaiting for him as he had been told to expect. Inside he found himself with Mycoft's beautiful personal assistant who eyes were glued to her blackberry. John found himself relieved that some things remained the same. "Hey Anthea."

"Dr.Watson." She greeted in her typically flat tone without bothering to look up from her device. John knew better to say anything else to her as he knew it would be a waste of time. He looked out the window and tapped his fingers on his knee. When they arrived he reached for the door handle and was startled when the brunette bombshell said, "Whatever happens Dr. Watson, remain calm. Don't react first and regret your actions later." He looked over his shoulder at her and for the first time really saw a human emotion in her eyes. Compassion. It didn't really suit her.

"Thanks." He said and then her blank mask was back. He got out of the car and went inside of the club. When he got inside he looked around at the old men who always seemed to be there. Learning his lesson from the last time he was there, he stood and waited for his escort.

When he was brought to Mycoft he felt as if he was experiencing déjà vu but he was sure it was because this situation was similar to the last time he met this man in this room. Mycroft was looking concerned and John was upset. So yes, it was quite the same situation all right.

"Have a seat Dr. Watson."

John complied with the request and looked up at the elder Holmes with barely veiled contempt. "What is this all about?"

Mycroft sighed and sat in a chair across from the doctor. "First I must apologize for my failing to realize that you would be unaware of the information I am about to impart to you. It was an oversight and I made assumptions that I shouldn't have made."

"Hmm ... Get on with it Mycroft."

"Well, I suppose I should ask you a question first. Did you know that Irene Adler was still alive?"

"What... no, of coarse not. As I recall _you_ were the one that informed me that she was dead! Is that woman a cat? How many lives does she get?"

"Sherlock apparently was involved. Palms were greased, records faked. The usual. But I assumed he had told you this. But then again there seems to be a lot of things I had assumed."

John frowned and squirmed a bit in his seat as if remaining sitting was annoying him. "Okay, why are you telling me this?"

Mycroft reached for his jacket's inside pocket and pulled out a folded sheet of paper and thrust it in John's direction. "I received this a few days ago. I had to determine if the claim had any validity."

John read the note and paled. "This is impossible. I mean ... they are asking for a million pound ransom for your nephew. Your one-year-old nephew. Sherlock was your only sibling, right?"

Mycroft nodded. "Your reaction was similar to mine. Yes Sherlock is my only sibling."

John's eyes narrowed at Mycroft's change of verb context. "You think he's alive?"

Mycroft nodded. "I thought that maybe you could shed some light on the situation. But then when you screamed at me at your wife's funeral...I gathered you knew as little as I."

"He could still be ... " John swallowed hard and refused to say "dead' as if the word was acid on his tongue. "Maybe he donated sperm before ...well you know...before..."

"He jumped off a damn building because of Moriarty." Mycroft's ground out angrily.

"Yeah before that." John mumbled.

"Does Sherlock seem to be the type to be a sperm donor?"

John let the thought roll around his head, "Well it is more plausible than him being alive or the idea of him actually having sex with someone."

"Not anyone, Irene Adler." Mycroft said with a sigh.

John closed his eyes and then opened them and looked down at the letter. "Damn."

"My sentiments exactly," replied Mycroft.

John stared at the man for a bit and tried to stamp down his rising hysteria. "I can't believe this! He can't really be alive. I saw him. No one could have survived that fall."

Mycroft shrugged, "We shouldn't jump to conclusions it could all be a cruel attempt at extortion."

John calmed down in the face of that line of reasoning, "Right. So where's Irene? The ransom note only mentions the child."

Mycroft took a drink from a neglected snifter and shrugged. "I have no idea. The kidnappers probably assume that she is worthless to me. And they'd be right."

John's eyebrows rose at that statement, "So you aren't going to even look for her?"

Mycroft stared off into a corner of the room for a moment before replying. "She's probably dead this time around. But don't doubt that I am using all of my resources to find the harlot. Dead or alive."

"Why do I have a feeling if she is alive, she won’t be for long." John said mostly to himself.

"Because you are a very intelligent man Dr. Watson. I made a mistake; I wont repeat it. As they say, if you want something done right...."

John looked at Mycroft and momentarily saw the man he really was. He wasn't just a powerful political insider. Men like him didn't get where they got in life by idly sitting by. "So what is my part in this Mycroft? I'm sure you have something up your sleeve. I'm here for a purpose. What is it?"

Mycroft removed himself from his seat and took the now empty snifter with him. He refilled it and filled a new glass for John. He walked over to the doctor and handed him the glass and returned to his seat.

"Once I procure the child, we will determine if he is in fact my brother's son." He said and then took a long drink.

"You are going to pay the ransom?" John looked up from the snifter he held with surprise.

"Good heavens, no. The kidnappers are going to believe I am, however. I will agree to terms, temporarily exchange the funds and get the child to safety. I have people to handle the clean up and retrieve my money. I do need you to be there when we get him back."

"This sounds dangerous. And why do you need me?" John asked wearily.

"As you said, it is dangerous and I may need a doctor on hand in case the child has been injured. And as I recall you are pretty damn good with a gun." Mycroft replied and gestured for John to drink.

When the good doctor did, he looked at Mycroft skeptically, "That's not all is it?"

"Well no, in light of the current situation I am going to have to have Sherlock’s body exhumed and have DNA testing done. I must be certain that I buried my brother and not some other poor soul."

John took in a sharp breath and shook his head. The thought of having his friend's body extracted from its peaceful place was an excruciatingly painful. What if they were wrong and Sherlock had died? He couldn't imagine having to bury him again. His heart just couldn't take it.

"John, you know this must be done regardless of how painful it is going to be. We must be certain. If he is alive, he must be in danger. It is the only reason why he hasn't returned."

"No ... he thinks we will be angry with him. I think I might be. I was mad that he died. And now I'm furious with the thought that he might have deceived us this whole time." John growled.

Mycroft's eyes narrowed and he fixed the doctor with a sharp glare, "Don't be stupid. Did you forget who was found at the top of that rooftop Dr. Watson? Moriarty was involved in Sherlock's death. He would have never committed suicide. Of that I have no doubt. If my brother is alive, I'm certain the reason he hasn't come back is because of Moriarty as well."

John quickly jumped from his seat and grabbed Mycroft up by his collar. "Moriarty was your doing! Don't you dare blame me for still being angry about all of this!" He pushed the man back in his seat and paced across the rug between them.

After a few moments of silence, John pointed at Mycroft, "Okay, what's the rest?"

Mycroft straightened his rumbled clothing.  He visibly relaxed and softly replied. "If the boy is my nephew, I have arranged for you to have temporary legal custody."

"What?! Mycroft, I can't possibly." John protested.

"He is alone in this world. If he is Sherlock's son do you really think he would want _me_ raising him? I am not a parent. You know what kind of world I live in. It is no place for a child."

"But Mycroft...."John stammered as he tried to wrap his mind around the idea of being the guardian of Sherlock's child.

Mycroft got up from his seat and put his hand on John's shoulder, "I will keep you posted on all of this and let you know when I will be needing you.”


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days were absolutely horrible for John. For one, people kept bringing him food that he had no idea what to do with. It was just him and Gladstone. Why did he need trays of various meats, casseroles, pastas and more than a bakery worth of pies and cakes? And then there were the plants and the ridiculously inspirational cards with doves and flowers and all other sorts of nonsense. How did all of these things really help him with the loss of his wife? At least Lestrade sent John his favorite brandy with a sticky note that said, "I have a feeling you will have need of this." Now there was a thank you card he would definitely send. Regardless of how Sherlock had felt...(did feel?) about the intelligence of the man, John thought he was the most practical person he had ever met. If you can't figure out a crime, call in the crime-solving genius to help. If a man has lost his heart (Sherlock) and his soul (Mary), send him a bottle; at least he could forget it all for a moment or two.

The other thing that was driving the good doctor to his wits’ end was that he had nothing to do to distract him from his anxiety about Sherlock and his possible progeny. 'God, what if he is really alive? Please...please let it be true.' kept playing in his head like a broken record. He really needed a distraction besides Lestrade's bottle. He couldn't go to work at the clinic. He was on extended leave and wasn't expected to come back for some time. 

The phone kept ringing, and the pictures on the walls were staring at him, Mary’s scent on their sheets was suffocating him, and the silence was deafening...he had to get out. He packed a bag of essentials, which included his laptop and Lestrade’s brandy, grabbed Gladstone's leash, his wallet, keys and jacket. He leashed the dog and locked the door behind him. He would ask Harry to empty the place out. There were many things John didn't know, but the one thing he was always sure of—he always knew his limits. Emptying out his house, leaving behind another life he shared with someone he loved. No he couldn’t do it. He unhooked the chain with his dog tags and put Mary's flat key next to the one that belonged to 221B.

~*~

He found himself at Harry and Clara's. Harry took one look at her brother and embraced him. "I'm so glad that you’re here. Just hide the alcohol. Clara won’t like that it's here."

He looked at her and chuckled. "How did you know?" She let him go and stepped aside so that he could walk into the flat.

She gave him a small smile, "Like I said before, if I were you right now, if it was Clara, I would be living inside of a bottle."  


John shook his head, "Don't say that."

Harry shrugged, "You know it's true. I lost her once and we both know how well that went."

Clara came up behind an unsuspecting Harry and embraced her and then kissed her softly on the cheek, "Well we aren't going to do that again are we love? Hey John, we are so glad you changed your mind."

John looked down at Gladstone, "Just temporarily. Been thinking about moving back to Baker Street."  


Harry pursed her lips and Clara frowned. "Do you think that's a good idea? Won’t you be even more depressed?"  


John pulled on Gladstone's leash as the bulldog had tried to wander further than he wanted him to. "I don't know. It depends on what happens I guess."

At Harry's questioning look he sighed. "We are going to need to sit for this. It's complicated."

Clara shook her head and the red curls bounced in response, "First, we get you settled. Harry, show him his room. I'll take Gladstone for a walk and when we get back we’ll have dinner and then we can discuss whatever this new situation is."  


John was going to argue that he could walk his own dog but saw the look of determination on his sister-in-laws face. "Okay. Jeez, sis, I feel like I’m back in the army and your wife outranks me."

Harry laughed, "Grab your bag, captain. Dinner is usually at 1900. Better be ready before she gets back." 

He grabbed his bag and followed his sister up a steep flight of stairs and followed her to what was apparently a guest room. He dropped his duffel bag and turned to Harry, "Thanks."

She sat on the bed and patted at it. John took the hint and sat next to her.

"Besides the obvious, are you okay?"

John was silent for a while and played with the edge of the comforter. "Nope."

Harry nodded her head. "Didn't really think you were." She leaned her head on his shoulder. They sat in silence for a while. And she thought back to what John had revealed at Mary's repast. "Is it Sherlock?"

John moved away from his sister and let himself fall back on the bed. He covered his eyes and sighed "It's always Sherlock."

~*~

Clara and Harry were sitting quite still at their kitchen table whilst staring at John with not a small amount of concern written all over their faces.

Harry looked over at Clara, "Baby please, I know I shouldn’t but really I think this is drink worthy."

John and his sister in law glared at her and responded simultaneously, "No."

Harry smiled, "Can't blame a drunk for trying. Okay, a fag then?"

John took out one from a pack in his shirt pocket and handed it to her, "I never even liked the smell of smoke before Sherlock. Something else to blame him for I guess" he said as he took out a lighter and clicked it open. 

Harry inhaled when her brother offered his lit lighter. "Thanks...wow, John. And Sherlock's brother just dumped this on you? Who does that? Who says, 'Hey, guess what? Your best friend who you thought was dead, yeah, he may be still alive. Oh and yeah, can you take care of his maybe baby?' What an arse." She said after exhaling a horribly inelegant puff of smoke.  


John rolled the coffee cup in his hand, "Yeah well that's Mycroft for you."

Clara swatted away Harry's smoke and leaned in closer to John. "John I'm confused. You were there when he died...I mean you were a witness."

John pushed the coffee away and sighed, "I know ...I can't get that day out of my head. I keep reliving it. I thought I put it behind me, well as much as anyone really could. I thought I was okay, I got married and yes, I still missed him, but I moved on with my life. But now? I realize that I never really let go. My head is a mess and I can't help feeling like I am disgracing Mary in all this. I can't even mourn her properly without thinking how much I miss Sherlock and how I would give anything for him to be alive. And how happy I would be if I could see him again. If I could just tell him.... even though I’m not even sure what it means that I love him."

Clara then quickly looked over at her wife with a raised eyebrow but then squeezed John's hand, "When Harry told me about your realization about your feelings for Sherlock, I was very confused. Forgive my bluntness, but John I thought you were straight."

He pulled his hand away from Clara and blew out a long breath and looked at his sister and then Clara, "I know it doesn't make sense.” He rubbed his forehead. “I have always been attracted to women and if I had to label myself I would have always gone with heterosexual. But I don't know if it's that simple when it comes to Sherlock and me. Maybe it just had to be the right bloke. Someone told me a while back that we were a couple, regardless of my sexuality. I thought she was off her rocker."

Harry put out her cigarette out on the side of the saucer where her coffee mug had been resting much to Clara's chagrin. She smiled sweetly at her wife's frown and shrugged. She then looked at her brother, "John... I don't think you should get your hopes up. What are you going to do if he isn't alive? What if this is all bullshit to get money out of Mycroft?" 

"If it's a sham, I will just have to move on. It will be harder this time without Mary but I think it's impossible for me not to have hope. Even if it lasts a short while, the thought that Sherlock could be out there somewhere, it's the best thing that has happened to me in a long time. After he died, I kept expecting him to show up and tell me it was all a mistake. He would give me his irritating smirk and charming wink and for once I wouldn't want to choke him. I want to feel him wrap his arms around me and I wont let go."

"Oh John" Harry sympathetically murmured. 

"Yeah, I know." John said as he rubbed his face roughly.

Clara stood up and put her hand on John’s shoulder. "It will be okay. Either way, you can depend on us. We will be there for you whatever you need."

John turned in his seat and put his hand on top of hers, "Thanks."


	5. Chapter 5

Lestrade sent him a text the very next day. "They are exhuming Sherlock. What's going on?" John knew that D.I. Lestrade would find out about the investigation. How could he not? John really wasn't sure exactly what to tell him. So he went with a partial truth and texted back, "Someone is claiming that Sherlock is a Dad. Mycroft wants 2 run a DNA test." John tilted his head to the side and looked at the phone skeptically. He really hated lying to his friends. When his phone beeped he wasn't all that surprised by Greg's response of, "WTF? Pull the other 1 mate. Sherlock? Mr. I have no time to fall victim to physical enticements Holmes? Really?" John chuckled at the title Greg dubbed John's best friend with and at the image of him trying to text all that. Greg was usually all thumbs when texting. But yeah, that really did sound like Sherlock. He sometimes forgot that Sherlock and Greg were "good acquaintances" before he and Sherlock had even become flat mates. Sherlock struggled with thinking he had any friends, but maybe unbeknownst to the great genius, Lestrade was his friend. He wasn't sure if Mycroft would appreciate it but he decided he needed to talk to Greg about what was going on so he texted back "LMAO. We haven't talked in a while, you wanna grab a drink?" Lestrade replied back with a time and a location of a pub near the Yard. John smiled and put away his phone. 

Later that evening John met with the detective inspector and bought him a pint. Greg gulped at the beer and then sat the glass down with a thud. John quirked his eyebrow and asked, "Bad day?"

Greg popped his knuckles and frowned, "The worst. I have some really nasty cases and I'm getting nowhere with them. God at times like this I miss Sherlock."

"Just times like this?" John asked as he morosely took another sip from his own pint.

"Well, you had the monopoly of actually enjoying his company. I miss his brain not his sarcastic arsehole remarks. "

"Gotta love the whole package, Lestrade."

"Again, that's all you mate. After all, he was the love of your life not mine."

John looked at him with wide eyes, "So you knew... how did you know when I didn't even know? I'm not even gay!"

"People were always telling you two, but neither of you would listen. And I didn't say anything about gay. No disrespect to Mary, God rest her soul, but that shit you had with Sherlock, yeah that was soul mate material. You two just clicked. The two of you didn't have to be fucking for it to be love. You made him a better man. I actually liked him when he was with you."

"He made me a better man too I suppose." John said as he stared off for a bit.

"Yeah, I can see that. So what's Mycroft really up to? I didn't buy that Sherlock might be a father bull."

John said, "Well actually that part might be true but there's more."

Greg's mouth dropped and said, "You're taking the Mickey."

John shook his head, and said "Nope." 

John then relayed everything that Mycroft had told him a few days earlier to Greg who couldn't help but be shocked. 

"This is...un-fucking believable. Damn, John, this has to be unbearable for you." 

"Yup, its really up there on the worst shit that has happened to me list. Right between seeing Sherlock jump and getting shot in Afghanistan. And now I'm stuck here with these feelings for a man, of all things to finally realize, who is, worse case scenario, dead and at best just missing. And if he is missing, I might have to take care of his baby because I'm-more-important-than-God-himself Mycroft Holmes said so."

Greg threw back the rest of his beer and looked at John, "Could you imagine letting Sherlock's kid go into the system though? You would have fought tooth and nail anyway to get him. Mycroft is just saving you time and effort on that one.  
And John, I know this is insane but you gotta just hang in there. I know there's not much I can do but if there's anything..."

John jumped off the stool, "Thanks mate, I really do appreciate it. I gotta be heading back."

Greg nodded and put his hand on John's arm, "I know I don't say it and that I make light of it but I miss him too. Deep down I know he was a good person. He just didn't always care about other people seeing him that way. But with you, he always cared. You gotta know he loved you too. Even if he never said it."

John sucked in a breath and tried not to tear up. He failed. "Thanks, Greg. I'll keep you updated, yeah?"

"You make sure you do that John."


	6. Chapter 6

_The hands on his naked body were strong and masculine and instead of being scared of the desire that was racing through his blood, he craved more. He slid his fingers into inky black curls and moaned as he was softly kissed on his neck. The kiss slid down to his collarbone and he shivered with longing. The firm hands slid down his chest. He was panting and wanting more. "Please" he moaned and pressed himself closer to the body that was caressing him. His own hands moved over smooth pale skin and he grabbed at his lover's arse. The hand strayed to his hip and the other slid to his manhood. He bit his lip and stifled another lusty moan. The talented hand was moving expertly up an down his shaft. His toes were starting to curl. The pleasure that was pounding into him was unbelievable. It was ecstasy._

"Oh God, Sherlock!!" John screamed out and woke up to sticky sheets. He blushed as the dream faded from his mind and huffed when he saw the mess his dream had caused. That hadn't happened in a long time. John sighed. God, was he really that slow on the uptake? In the past he had tried to make excuses to himself as to why he would have a wet dream about his flat mate. Like he was just hard up and he spent all of his time with his friend instead of women, so his brain just used Sherlock as a convenient substitute. Or sometimes, he would use the Freudian reason, of a sex dream as the mind telling him that he had an unresolved conflict with the consulting detective. That was his favorite one, since when didn't he have some sort of conflict with Sherlock? However, in light of the fact that his heart just caught up to what his subconscious mind had been trying to tell him, his rationalizations seem as weak as a litter of newborn kittens. He got up from the bed and stripped himself and put on his robe. He walked down the hall to the guest bathroom and took a shower.

After showering and returning to his room he grabbed his laptop out of his bag. He opened it and stared at the screen. He opened up the Internet browser and logged into his blog. He hadn't touched the thing since Sherlock had died. He hadn't even written a goodbye to the faithful readers. He read all of the old entries. He was transported to the memories, good and bad. He wiped away a tear that had slid down his cheek.

Time flew and suddenly he realized that morning had arrived. 7:18 a.m. He started a new entry.  He typed three words. "I miss you."

~*~

He was eating lunch alone at a cafe in Central London when he got the text from Mycroft. "I'm sending a car, now. Should be at your location in fifteen minutes."

John looked at the phone as if it betrayed him. Of course Mycroft would know where he was at all times if he wanted to. Damn microchips ...blasted government. After he finished mentally complaining about the loss of civil liberties, he looked at the message again with new eyes and felt a strange hybrid of trepidation and hope.

He texted back, "Tell me now."

He wasn't all that surprised when he didn't get a response. So he finished his lunch with an anxious stomach and sipped his lukewarm tea. When the government car came around, he also wasn't surprised to find Anthea inside. He was tempted to badger her but he knew it was a fruitless endeavor.

When he found Mycroft, he was shocked to see the smile on his face. John was hard pressed to remember a genuine smile ever gracing the man's face. He offered his hand and John shook it. "Good of you to come, Dr. Watson."

"As if I had a choice, can I assume your smile means you have good news."

"Good enough news, doctor. Sherlock wasn't in that grave." Mycroft said as he watched John's reaction. "John...you may need to have a seat."

John nodded and stumbled back until his legs hit the back of the chair and slumped into it. He shook his head and put his hand over his mouth. After taking a long breath, "I knew...when you said...I mean it was a possibility but, he's alive? God, is it really true?"

Mycroft shrugged, "If he is alive remains to be seen. But you can rest assured, he didn't commit suicide. It wasn't his body in that grave."

John nodded, "We have to find him. I have to know that he is safe. The not knowing...I don't think I can stand it."

Mycroft frowned, "I'm not sure if we should go looking for him. If he isn't back in London, it's because he doesn't want to be found."

John looked like he had been kicked in the stomach. But then put on a brave face. "I guess I will have to accept that. And the baby?"

"That is next on the agenda, the kidnappers want to make the exchange tomorrow." Mycroft made a gesture with his hand that reminded John of his brother.

John got up from his chair with shaky legs,” Let me know when and where you want me for that."

Mycroft nodded, "Yes. And John?"

John stopped his departure to look at Mycroft, "Yeah?"

"He will come back. When he is ready. Despite what he thinks, he needs his heart."


	7. Chapter 7

Sherlock had finally found the last sniper that Moriarty had hired. This ordeal had been the most tedious experience of his life and he was glad that it would be over soon. His life for the last few years had been nothing but watching his back and planning the fall of those who had tried to destroy him. It was stressful and most days he wished he could just scream. He watched impassively from a safe and nicely hidden spot on the roof of an adjacent building as the assassin engaged in a knife fight with a mobster who he had been paid to kill. It was the same mobster that Sherlock had tipped off, and of course failed to inform that he himself was the one who had hired the assassin. Moriarty's hired hand was a sniper and he was not suited for hand-to-hand violence, which is exactly why Sherlock had set it up that way. It had taken blood, sweat and tears to find Moriarty's bastards and since he couldn't just kill them himself, he made elaborate plans such as the one he was currently observing, so that all of Moriarty's men were killed.  


He was tired; tired of running; tired of missing his home and definitely tired of dealing with Irene and trying to keep one step ahead of her at all times. After the "magic trick" as he liked to think of it, Sherlock knew he had to find all of the men who were hired by Moriarty. The problem he faced was how to find them. He couldn't exactly go to Mycroft since he was supposed to be dead, and although he and his older brother didn't always get along he didn't want to be responsible for Mycroft's death or Mrs. Hudson's, or heaven forbid, John's. There was only one person he knew who dealt with Moriarty who hadn't tried to shoot the ones he loved. 

Enter stage right: Irene Adler. Sherlock grimaced as he thought of his...lover? It was strange to think of her as that. Maybe an informant was a better way to think of her. Most people who knew him would have been very surprised that he and Irene had sex. But then again everyone he knew would also be shocked to find him alive; Everyone except Molly. Thank God for sweet, compassionate Molly. Irene was nothing like her. Irene had personality traits that could be described as the exact opposite of his lab tech friend. He couldn't deny that Irene was sexy and was capable of seducing a saint. But the reason he slept with her was not the typical reasons most sexually mature men would engage in such activities with a woman as beautiful as Irene. It had been blackmail and a bit of tit for tat. If he wanted information from her, he had to give her what she wanted. As he continued to watch the battle of assassin versus mob boss he recalled the conversation he had with her when they first met again.  


_Flashback_

It was during a high society event in Prague, so of course it was at a ball. Her hair was twisted in an elegant up do and she wore a silk sleek black dress with a slit that should have been illegal. She was obviously bored to tears and had given her dance partner and his wallet the slip, to stand outside on the balcony sipping champagne. He crept up behind her, reached inside the bodice of her dress and pulled out the man's wallet as he whispered in her ear, "That was very very naughty my dear."

She turned quickly and met him with wide eyes that quickly morphed into their normally sharp slits, she reminded him of snake poised to strike, "Sherlock Holmes. I was led to believe you were dead."  


He took the glass out of her hand and took a long sip before placing the empty glass on the banister. "I could say the same thing about you."  


She laughed, "You knew I wasn't dead."  


Sherlock rocked back and forth on his heels. "I need a favor."  


She looked him up and down and purred, "It's going to cost you" as she snatched the wallet back out of his hand and returned it to its hiding place within her dress.

Sherlock nodded, "When hasn't it cost me when it comes to you?"  


She put her hand on his face and patted his cheek "Ah Ah Ah. Didn't anyone ever tell you that you had to be nice when asking for a favor?"  


Sherlock clenched his teeth and moved away from her hand. "What do you want?"  


She smiled her oily smile and licked her lips, "Depends on what you need." 

"I need the names of the men that Moriarty hired. I can't go home until they are dealt with. I wont risk anyone getting hurt, but I want my life back."  


She folded her arms over her chest. "You."  


Sherlock's eyebrows furled in confusion, "What?"  


She unfolded her arms and walked forward on ridiculous black stilettos. She took her index finger and slid it down his chest, bit the corner of her lip and looked up at him, "My price. I want you."  


Sherlock grabbed her hand and quickly pulled her into a hard embrace, "Are you sure about that?"  


She gasped and looked at him with crazed eyes filled with lust, "We have unfinished business, Mr. Holmes. I'm not the kind of girl who accepts being unfulfilled."  


And then she savagely kissed him.  


_End of Flashback_

He shook his head from his musings and saw that the mobster had succeeded and was now dumping the assassin into the driver's seat of a car. He went to his own vehicle and pulled out a gasoline tank out of his trunk. He poured it inside of the car and dumped the empty container in the back seat. He threw a lit match in and walked to his car and made his get away. Sherlock watched the explosion with a weary satisfaction. It was done.  


Now he just needed to tie up some loose ends, mainly dealing with Irene, and he would be free to go home to London to face the music, so to speak. He really hoped to receive understanding from his loved ones; Mrs. Hudson, Lestrade and most of all John. It was going to be difficult. They were going to be hurt. He wasn't looking forward to the frosty reception he was certain he would get after the initial shock wore off, but he had to move on now. He missed them all too much.


	8. Chapter 8

John was holding his gun close to his chest as he followed the other armed men into the hotel room. It was quiet except for the loud cries of the small child they were there to rescue. Once it had been established that it was all clear, he put the safety back on his gun and put it in its holster. He went over to the crib and peered down into it. The little boy was dressed in blue pajamas with yellow ducks on it. He was red faced and tears were pouring out of him. John picked up the baby and stroked his curly black hair. "Shh, now. You are going to be okay. Shh."

He looked around the room and found what was obviously the baby's diaper bag and slung it over his shoulder. He let the other men guard him and the baby out of the room and the hotel. The little boy had calmed down a bit by the time he reached the car and had stuffed a fist into his mouth. John got in the car with the child and looked over at Mycroft.

The man looked as if had actually been worried. "Is he alright?" John placed the baby in the car seat that looked completely out of place next to Mycroft. He threw down the diaper bag on the floorboard and struggled with the fasteners. The baby looked at him with what seemed to be amusement. He huffed as he sat down and looked over at Mycroft.

"From what I can tell, yes he seems fine. But we need to take him to the hospital to be certain. I prefer that a pediatrician sees him."

Mycroft gave a quick nod, "That is where we are heading anyway to have the DNA test done."

"Barts doesn't perform DNA tests."  John said as he looked at Mycroft. 

Mycroft gave John a look that said, 'Did you forget who I am?' but instead he simply said, "Usually no."

John glanced down at the baby who was looking up at him with Sherlock's beautiful eyes and thought that a DNA test was pretty much a waste of time. This child with the dark curly hair and blue-grey sparkling eyes was like a mini-Sherlock.

"Did you find out what his name is?" John had asked as he offered his finger to the baby who tried to gnaw on it.

Mycroft went through the paperwork and found the child's birth certificate. "Amazing that Irene would use her real name on his documents. Made it so much easier to get this. Let's see...oh, well his name is...John Adler Holmes. This is odd. Sherlock isn't named as the father. That's not promising. He might not be Sherlock’s after all."

John looked at the baby and again saw nothing but a clone of his friend. "He looks just like him. His name is John? I wonder if that’s a coincidence." Mycroft then handed John an envelope that had his name on it then he gestured towards the driver for them to leave.

John opened the envelope. It read in flowery print, “ _I ignored your initial advice about baby names. Hamish is a horrible name for a child, so I just went with John. Hope you don’t mind, Dr. Watson – IA. PS. Give Sherlock my regards_.”

~*~

John Holmes was checked in at the hospital and John Watson refused to leave until he was assured that the child was well and healthy. The DNA test results came in the same day baby John was to be released. The call from Mycroft was short and to the point: “DNA test is positive. John is Sherlock's son. I have informed the hospital that he is to be released to you. The guardianship paperwork will be at 221B Baker Street by the end of the day.”

When John reached the familiar doorstep of 221B with little John in a baby carrier, the door opened wide and a smiling Mrs. Hudson embraced him. "John! Welcome home."

 ~*~

Sherlock was flying back to London. He had tried to contact Irene but she hadn't responded to his text, which wasn't all that unusual. At times he would go months without having any contact with her and he didn't have her current address. He never had need of it, as he was never the one to seek her out. Whenever she wanted something from him she was the one who would find him. And usually she had broken in. If he had allowed himself he could have fallen for her, she was always quite intriguing. But he couldn't give his heart to Irene because it belonged to John. And he couldn’t trust her as far as he could throw her. He let his head fall back on the headrest and turned it to the side to look out of the plane's window. John. Shit, how was he going to handle that? He cataloged all of the information he knew about his friend. Ex-Military. So on one level he will respect the fact that the ends justified the means. Honest. He will be upset about Sherlock's deception even if he had lied to protect everyone. Loyal. Which meant that he might come around with time. Traditional. He will mostly likely deny their mutual attraction. Sherlock sighed and watched the scenery as he flew back home. Upon landing at Heathrow he was escorted away and fast-tracked through customs. It could only mean one thing. Mycroft knew he was alive and back. Once his bags were brought to him he was brought to the car he knew would be awaiting for him.

"He couldn't be bothered to come and see me himself?" He asked Mycroft’s personal assistant as he settled into the car.

Anthea smirked and kept poking at her blackberry. "He's a busy man." "Good to see you too, Anthea."

The remainder of the ride was quiet, which Sherlock appreciated. His head was full of noise as it was. He couldn't stop imagining the shocked faces, the angry words, and the slaps and punches that were surely coming his way. When the car stopped in front of his old flat he was pulled out of his thoughts by Anthea's voice, "Welcome home Sherlock."


	9. Chapter 9

A few days had passed and John again found himself feeling a myriad of emotions, overwhelmed, hopeful, scared, tired, and happy. He had too much on his plate. So he asked Mrs. Hudson if she could babysit so that he could pick up Gladstone. When he showed pictures of little John on his phone to his sister and Clara they both fell in love instantly and promised to babysit any time he needed them to. He informed the clinic of his new responsibility and completed the required documentation. He didn't really want to take the time, especially since he was due back soon from personal leave but was persuaded to accept the short-term paternity leave. He promised to bring baby John to the clinic so that they could all meet him.

When Lestrade came to visit he tried hard not to stare at the baby in John’s arms.

“He looks just like him.”

John smiled, “He’s already acting like him too.”

Greg shook his head in pity, “Poor bastard. God save you.”

The detective inspector handed baby John a plush blue bear, which little John blew a raspberry at.

John chuckled, “See what I mean?”

~*~

John soon realized that the whole parenthood thing was a pain in the arse. The one-year-old was a menace. A cute, demonic menace that wouldn't sleep. Well at least not when John wanted or needed him to. He looked down at the little boy who had toddled his way over to him and was pulling on his pant leg with one surprising strong hand and another that was waving up at him, "Da-Da. Up," which John had already figured out meant he wanted to be picked up. "No, Johnny not Da-Da. I'm Uncle John." John said as he leaned down and picked up the baby. "No ... Da-Da" John responded stubbornly and patted his guardian's cheek. He then pressed his face into John's face happily. John sighed and looked down at the boy's curly head. "Just like your father, stubborn as a mule." He walked around the room and stopped at the mantle when Johnny tried to pull down a photo that Mrs. Hudson had placed there. It was a photograph of John and Sherlock at Christmas. The baby patted at the picture and pointed at John, saying "Da-Da" proudly as if proving a point to his guardian. John shook his head he didn't know babies were capable of being smug.

John looked at the picture and said, "Oh did your mum teach you that?" The only reply he got was a spit bubble and a grin.

The doorbell rang and he said to the little menace, "That's probably your new furniture."

When he opened the door he almost dropped Johnny. "Oh my God, Sherlock."

~*~

Sherlock stood outside on the stoop of his old flat and considered just using his key. He could tell by looking at the door that the locks hadn't been changed. So Mrs. Hudson hadn't gotten new tenants after John had moved out. His plan was to ask Mrs. Hudson if he could just stay on her couch until he could find new accommodations. But apparently that might not be necessary. Of course, it wasn't. That was why he had been dropped off here in the first place instead of a hotel. He shook his head. Why was his thinking so fuzzy? Jet lag? Possible. Anxiety? More than likely. He rang the doorbell and heard the heavy footfalls on the steps. Not Mrs. Hudson. The door opened wide and there he was, his best friend, his only true friend, and the love of his life.

"Oh my God, Sherlock."

"John." The name came out reverently and his voice was deeper than he had ever heard it. Sherlock was locked into those deep blue eyes and he felt an overwhelming pull to kiss the man who was currently holding...a baby? Why was John holding a baby? He took in the baby's appearance and quickly dismissed the boy as John's. Maybe Harry and Clara had adopted?

"Pa-Pa!!" The baby squealed and tried to leap from John's arms as he pulled on Sherlock's lapels. Sherlock tried to step away but only managed to stumble into his luggage. His eyes widened as he looked at the child again. Dark curly hair, sharp chin like Irene's, the beginnings of his bone structure, Irene's upturned nose, and his eyes. John watched the realization on Sherlock's face bloom and he found a perverse pleasure in catching the man off guard. So he didn't know about Johnny? Then he remembered who the child's mother was. Yeah, that sort of made sense if he thought hard about it.

"No, he's ...What? I mean when...?"

"Well let's see, it usually takes nine months to create one of these and he's fourteen months old, so hmm. Can you do the math?"

"You are angry." Sherlock said in a deadpan voice.

"No shit, Sherlock. But not about the baby." John grappled with the child who was still fussing and trying to grab at Sherlock. Sherlock wasn't too sure about that.

"Would you like me to leave?" he asked nervously. John exhaled and took in Sherlock's appearance. He was obviously tense and sad…and really confused. He pulled on his ear.

"God, no. I'm just tired. Here take him. Come up I need a break anyway." John grabbed Sherlock’s luggage and quickly went upstairs. Sherlock took the baby and stared at him in shock, before he realized that John was half way up the stairs.

He followed John upstairs and looked around their living room. It was exactly the same, except for the dog bowls and baby toys that were scattered around and the coffee table had apparently turned into a changing table. It smelt like a strange mixture of old formaldehyde and baby powder.

“This isn’t what I expected…” Sherlock said but was interrupted by his irritated former flat mate who had just dumped his luggage on the floor by the door. "I'm taking a nap. There are prepared bottles in the cooler if he gets hungry. Don't give him one cold. He will just spit it all up. There is a bottle warmer next to your Bunsen burners on the counter. His crib and a few other odds and ends are coming in today."

"Where should I have them put them?" Sherlock looked around the room skeptically. "It's your kid. Your room should do. Don't you think?"

Sherlock knew better than to argue. He put baby John down on the floor and the child crawled over to his toys that were nearby.

"Right, have a good rest then."

John nodded and turned on his heel. Before he left the room completely he said over his shoulder,"You have a lot of explaining to do. You do know that right?" He looked down at little John who had decided to bang on the floor with a bright yellow stick that apparently accompanied a toy xylophone.

"I'll do my best."

John stared at him and then muttered, "You'd better."


	10. Chapter 10

"Well, that was a bit anti-climatic," Sherlock said as he picked up the plastic drum that his son had just discarded and made a little melody on the metal keys of the toy. The tune made baby John giggle and he clapped his hands. Sherlock looked down at his son, "But you are definitely not. How did I not know about you?"

John crawled over closer to Sherlock and began to try to mimic the music that his father had produced and seemed to get cranky when he couldn't replicate the sounds. When the fussing started to become a tantrum, Sherlock frowned and tried to figure out what had made the little boy unhappy. He took the chubby arm and maneuvered the child's movements and replicated the little song, which pleased baby John. "Obviously my son. If you don’t understand something the first time you throw a fit, hmm? Good thing you didn't realize I helped. Well this might be a bit fun, teaching you things I mean. Not the nappy changes. You don't need one of those yet do you?" Sherlock looked at the child's bottom skeptically.

A few hours had passed. The deliverymen had come and gone. He told them to leave the playpen in the living room but the rest went in his room. Sherlock looked at his room and dismay and then down at Johnny. "What's done is done I suppose." The little boy began to squirm and after a quick sniff he figured out that it was time for that nappy change.

Eventually he somehow figured out how to change and feed his son. It was quite an adventure. Johnny had picked up the baby powder mid-change and shook it everywhere and Sherlock struggled to get it away from him. Then he realized that he had put the nappy on backwards. "Damn!" He swore and then said to the baby, "I suppose we will have to start over." The feeding was a lot easier and he was very grateful that the warmer had instructions printed on it's side. With a fed and diapered baby in hand, soon Sherlock and son found themselves asleep on the couch.

John woke up to Gladstone licking his face. “Gah, guess you want a walk, huh?” John leashed the bulldog. He heard Sherlock in the kitchen apparently making baby John’s bottle by the sound of man’s deep voice reading aloud the instructions. When he and the dog got back from their walk he saw the most adorable thing in his whole life. It was Sherlock asleep. He was leaned back in his normal pose. There were differences of course, like the fact there was baby powder in his hair and there was a little boy curled up on his chest and Sherlock's hand were embracing him. John's smiled fondly down at them. They both looked so innocent when asleep. Too bad he knew it wouldn't last. And as that thought passed through his mind, if on cue, Sherlock's eyes popped open.

"Jesus! Every time. Why do you wake up like that?"

Sherlock looked over at John, "I have no idea what you mean. Why are you staring at me?"

John replied with a, "Ummm? Wasn't. Just checking in on John."

Sherlock gave him a look that said, "yeah, right." "Okay, well take the little blighter then. He's drooled on my shirt."

"Don't call him that. He's an angel." John said as he picked up the child from Sherlock's chest. "Did you set up his crib?"

Sherlock frowned, "No I paid the delivery man to do it."

"Did he put the linens on too?"

Sherlock frowned. "No. But I did think ahead and asked Mrs. Hudson to launder them." He pointed at the neatly folded crib white linen with blue sailboats printed on them that were sitting on a desk. With a pointed look from John, Sherlock sighed. "Oh domestic bliss...okay I’ll do it."

"Thank you." John replied with a snide tone. Sherlock gave him a two finger wave, which John narrowed his eyes at.

~*~

"Soo...." John said after the baby was settled in his new crib.

"I suppose you want to know what happened?" John glared at him and folded his arms across his chest.

"You are taking the news of me being alive surprising well. But then again I assume Mycroft had something to do with that."

John unfolded his arms and let them fall to his sides. He leaned against the side of the couch. "It was more to do with John actually."

"How so?" Sherlock asked.

"He was kidnapped. They wanted a ransom. They must have been tipped off that the child was yours and so they went after Mycroft since they obviously couldn't go after you and Mycroft is the one with the big back accounts anyway right?"

Sherlock stared off for a while and then answered. "I didn't know about him. I would say I couldn't believe Irene would do this to me, but that wouldn't be true. She's going to be very upset about losing this bargaining chip."

"Bargaining chip?" Sherlock started to pace as he pounded his hand on his forehead. "Stupid. Stupid. I should have known she would want something else from me."

"What are you talking about?" Sherlock stopped mid pace and glared at the confused man who had sat down on the couch.

"Please John. Think."

"It's hard to think when one is exhausted. You know your son refuses to keep human hours. Just like you. You forget I don't have all of the details hence this conversation. Arse."

Sherlock looked down his hawk nose at John. “I apologize. You are right.”

He sat down across from John. “Things have changed.”

John scoffed. “You think so?”

“Don’t be acerbic. It’s unattractive.”

“You want to know what’s unattractive? You. Spread out on the pavement. Blood everywhere. Pooled around your head. ” John bit out.

“I wasn’t dead.”

“Clearly.” John snapped as he flicked his wrist in an agitated gesture.

“Do you want me to tell you how I did it?” Sherlock asked with a deadpan expression.

“I would prefer the why over the how.” John said as he toyed with a throw pillow.

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Apparently not.”

“Come now John. Mycroft and you didn’t figure it out?”

“Mycroft may have but I haven’t really had the time, between burying my wife, worrying about you being alive or dead and taking care of your son.”

Sherlock was visibly chagrined. “My condolences on the loss of Mary. I know you loved her.”

“Not enough.”

They sat in silence for a while. “There is a pink elephant in the room.” John said.

“Yes.” Sherlock stated in agreement and pressed his lips together in a tight line.

“Do you want to address it?”

“No, but I’m thinking we should.”

Sherlock pulled his feet up to his chest and glanced over at John. “You expect me to start?”

John asked shrilly as he put his hand on his chest.

“You were the one to mention large pastel colored mammals.”

John pinched the bridge of his nose, “Why God? Why? Did I do something in my last life or something?”

“You are mixing belief systems if you are asking your Protestant God about your past lives.”

“You are so fucking annoying. And brilliant. And amazing. And I love you. I love you so much it hurts. There’s your pastel mammal.

” Sherlock got up from his seat and sat next to John and took his hand. “I know many things, but as I’ve told you before there are certain things that I don’t and some things I’ve been taught to forget. Love is one of those things. I’m sure I’ve loved before but it has been discouraged and it never seemed to offer any positive results. It only results in disappointment and pain. Just look at what I did to you.”

“You were trying to protect us.” John argued.

“Yet you are still angry.”

John shook his head. “It’s just that you…always. Always do this. You run off and try and save the day or …something. You get in cabs with serial killers and you flirt with megalomaniacs who just also happen to be serial killers. You never trust anyone to help you! So yes, I’m angry because you didn’t trust me. And don’t pretend that you don’t understand how that makes me feel.”

“John, I trust you with my life. I couldn’t come to you. As you just pointed out, I was trying to protect you.  You were being watched, we would have all been killed if I showed up here.”

John closed his eyes for a second and nodded his head. “That is what Mycroft gathered.”

“And you didn’t accept his hypothesis?” John shrugged. Sherlock took in John’s body posture and facial expression.

“Do you want to know why you are really angry?”

“This should be good. You of all people are going to explain to me the reasoning behind my emotions. You?” John pointed his finger at Sherlock accusingly.

Sherlock ignored the aggressive retort.  “You are angry because you think you are alone in this. You think that you are more emotionally invested than I am in you and that I just took your love for granted and I hurt you. You don’t like being vulnerable and I make you feel that way.”

“I could say the same for you. You think love is a weakness and loyalty is stupidity.” John folded his arms across his chest tightly.

Sherlock sighed. “That’s Mycroft’s influence I must admit. But you know I rebel against him at every opportunity.” He then smirked.

John softened a bit after that remark.  “So it doesn’t bother you?”

“That you love me? Or that I love you in return?”

John’s mouth dropped and he pointed to himself. “You love me?”

“I sometimes wonder at that you know? You can be a bit slow. How did I fall for someone who struggles with following a simple conversation?”

John pursed his lips and shook his head. “This is not a simple conversation.”

Sherlock cocked his head to the side, “Because we are talking about love?”

“Sherlock, it may have slipped your notice…”

“Nothing slips my notice.”

“That I’m not gay! And neither are you! Isn’t it strange that a straight man and one who is…whatever you are, are talking about loving each other as if they are discussing the weather?”

“It’s only complicated if you choose to see it as such.”

“Sherrrlocck…” John whined.

“It doesn’t make sense! That should bother you. You always like to figure out things that don’t make sense.”

“But it makes sense to me John. You are my other half. You make me whole. I understand things much quicker when you are there to temper my overzealous mind. I can take one look at your face and know if I stepped over a line I didn’t realize was there. You make me feel human.”

“I thought that you didn’t care about that.”

“I don’t, but you do and I do know that if you care about someone you do whatever you can to make them happy. You used to do things all the time to make me happy. Like assisting me with my experiments or interviewing clients that I don’t like. It doesn’t hurt me to try to be more…civil for your sake even if it doesn’t come naturally.”

“So you do love me?”

Sherlock gave him a look that said, “OBVIOUSLY!!” “I think I just said that.”

“Wow. Okay. Wow.”

“Hmm, my thoughts exactly.” Sherlock said sarcastically.

They sat in silence until John broke it. “What are we going to do? I’ve never … with a man I mean…”

Sherlock observed John as he spoke. 'He’s talking with his hands. He’s stressed'. Sherlock grabbed John’s hand that seemed to be trying to fly of his wrist. “John, this doesn’t mean that anything has to change between us.”

John pulled his hand away and shook his head, “You don’t understand. It does. I want it to.”

“Really? You have never outwardly displayed sexual attraction towards me.”

John blushed. “I have dreamt about you.”

“Dreams can represent…”

“And then I would think of you, do think of you when I …” John’s blush gotten even redder.

“Oh… ”

“Yeah.”

“How did I miss that?”

“I dated a lot. And when we were working, you were usually very focused on the case and only the case.”

“You were jealous of the work.”

“She is your wife.”

“Was.”

"Sherlock, I can’t believe that. Solving mysteries, working cases, that is your life. I can’t compete with that.”

Sherlock nodded. “I understand how you could come to that conclusion. I love solving puzzles. The completion I feel when I have conquered a problem is better than any high I have ever felt. But when I was gone, the only thing I could think of was how much I missed you. I kept thinking, “I wonder what John would do?” and “what would John think of this?” The work…the high alone isn’t good enough anymore. I need you too.”

“I’m scared.”

“You don’t need to be. As I said nothing needs to change between us.”

“But it has to. I can’t just keep having wet dreams about you and wanking off to thoughts of you night after night. It’s ridiculous.”

“What do you want to do John?”

Doctor John Watson sat up straight and turned to face Sherlock so that he could meet his eyes. He reached out and grabbed Sherlock’s shirt and pulled him forward until their lips met. Sherlock’s reacted by opening his mouth and allowing John’s tongue to tangle with his own. It was electrifying and he moaned as he felt the endorphins flood his blood stream. He pulled John closer. When they both found themselves breathless, Sherlock put his hands on John’s face.

“Still scared?”

John looked at him and a small smile spread across his face. “No, absolutely not.”

Then they both laughed like loons until they were stopped by baby John’s cry.

“Oh, someone is awake.” John said as he got up to tend to the baby, but Sherlock stopped him by putting his hand out.

“No allow me.”

Sherlock came back with a fussy John. “It’s going to get confusing having two Johns. Why on earth did you name him after you?” Sherlock asked as his son was busy pulling at his father’s hair.

“I didn’t. His mum was responsible for that.”

“Why on earth would she do that?”

John told Sherlock about the note that John received. “So she knew he would end up with you.”

The doctor just shrugged. “She probably got herself into trouble and figured that once Mycroft found out about John he would insist I was granted guardianship. Do you want to have it changed over to you now?”

“No. I think it would be better if you have some legal connection to our son. Maybe we can call him by his middle name. What is it by the way?”

“Adler. Our…?”

“Adlerorr, that’s a strange name, but then again Mycroft and Sherlock aren’t typical either.”

He said in a puzzled tone and then looked at the stunned expression on his best friend’s face.

"Oh…yes. John. Ours.”

“Okay. Right. What’s next, marriage?”

Sherlock shifted his son in his arms and then placed him on a blanket that was obviously provided by Mrs. Hudson that was lying on the floor. He picked up a blue bear and frowned at it, “Lestrade?” When John nodded he put it down and handed little John a toy that played music and blinked primary and secondary colors.

“I think we should probably see how good the sex is first. Don’t you think?”

The other man chewed his lip. “I guess?”

Sherlock rubbed his hands and his eyes were bright, “Yes! A new experiment. This should keep boredom at bay for a while.”

John gulped.


	11. Chapter 11

“What about Johnny? I’ve been calling him that.” John asked Sherlock who peered down at his son who was busy making a mess of his breakfast.

Sherlock shook his head. “Johnny sounds like a mechanic.”

“Nothing wrong with being a mechanic.” John grumbled as he folded the newspaper and then sipped his cuppa.

“No…but his father is the world’s only consulting detective and his mother…well let’s just say, I doubt he has the genetic make up to be mere a mechanic. And let’s not forget your influence, doctor.”

“Fine. JJ? Short for John Junior, although he’s not technically a junior”

Sherlock let it roll around his mind, “JJ…hmm I doubt we can do any better for now. What do you think JJ?” The little baby giggled. 

John smiled, “Whatever you two decide is fine with me. So, did you two sleep okay?”

“Yes, but just so you know I plan on moving into your room soon and making my room into John’s nursery.”

“What?”

“We are lovers…”

“Not really” John said with a sulky tone.

“Yes really, we just haven’t had sex yet. But we will cross that bridge eventually and I don’t know why we would sleep in separate rooms. JJ here is going to need his own room anyway, unless you plan on abandoning the flat.”

John sighed, “I doubt we can afford a new flat, especially since now there is another mouth to feed.”

“So there you are. When are you going to paint his room?”

“Me?”

“Well the colors in there now don’t really suit a small child. A bit drab, it was fine for me but …”

“Sherlock!!!”

JJ and Sherlock looked at John with surprise. “What? Why are you screaming?”

“Because you are frustrating. You have just come back from the dead just yesterday and now you assume …I think we need to take things a bit slowly.”

Sherlock frowned. “Whatever for? I think we’ve wasted enough time don’t you? You don’t like to take things slowly anyway. You are a man of action, John Watson.” He winked at John.

John clenched his jaw. Sherlock ignored him and sipped his tea.

“Gladstone needs a walk do you want to do it or should I?”

“Great! Yes, I think that is a good idea. Gladstone! Come here boy.”

John leashed the dog, stormed out, and slammed the door.

Sherlock looked at his son who was pounding his plastic spoon on the side of his highchair. “Your Da-Da is funny when he gets mad. Isn’t he? And so very gullible, I just didn’t want to walk the dog. I’m sure in his mind it’s probably my turn.”

The only response he got was a gurgle.  


~*~ 

Sherlock was walking and talking to his son with a burp towel over his shoulder when he met Greg Lestrade again.

“Well isn’t this a sight.” Greg said as he entered the room.

Sherlock gave the detective a warm smile, “Still entering my flat without a warrant or an invitation detective inspector? I can assure you there are no drugs here.”

Greg shook his head and smiled. “I would hope not. You look pretty damn good for a dead man, Sherlock.”

“Thank you. So what are you doing here?”

“Just wanted to see with my own eyes.” Greg said as he approached the other man. 

He softly patted JJ’s head. “Hey little one.”

“Do you have a case?” Sherlock asked excitedly. He was trying hard to resist bouncing up and down.

“You know I do. A few actually.”

“So the purpose of this visit wasn’t just because you missed me or to sate your curiosity.”

“Not just that no, but it is good to see you.”

“You too. Let me hear about the cases.” Sherlock said as he put his son down in the playpen.  


~*~ 

John came back in the midst of Greg outlining a case. He rolled his eyes. “You’ve been back one day, Sherlock. Hi Greg.”

“Lestrade came to me and I’ve already solved two, this one is actually interesting though so shush.”

John chuckled to himself and unleashed Gladstone who promptly ran up to Lestrade for a scratch. 

He sat down on the arm of the couch near Sherlock and listened to Greg lay out the facts of the case to an over eager Sherlock who unknowingly had reached for John’s hand while he was listening. John let him hold it and he blushed when he saw Greg’s eyebrow rise.

Sherlock dropped John’s hand and leaped from the couch and paced while holding his head. He shook his head and said, “I will need to see it. I will have to go to the construction site.”

“But the Yard doesn’t even know you’re alive.” Lestrade sputtered.

“You are going to have to tell them. Do they still think I am responsible for all of the things that Moriarty orchestrated?”

“No. Mycroft handled that ages ago.”

“Well then, there will be no problem then.”

“Sherlock, there is the small fact that most people are going to be upset that they were tricked.”

“Well then you are going to have your work cut out for you, hmm?”

“You are such an arsehole, you know that don’t you?”

Sherlock gave him a toothy smile, “You need me. So make it right with the simpletons won’t you?”

“John, I think you must be a saint to deal with this one.” Lestrade said to the doctor.

“Saint? No. Might have been oxygen deprivation at birth. I could ask my mother.” John said sarcastically but still smiled fondly at Sherlock. 

Sherlock guided Lestrade to the door, “Let me know when things are clear on your end.” When he shut the door he gave John a huge smile, “A real case, something I can sink my teeth into. It’s exhilarating!”

John picked up some of JJ’s toys, “Mmm hmm.”

“You don’t seem that excited.”

John sat down heavily on the couch. “I’ve got too much on my plate right now, Sherlock.”

“And you think that if I go back to work I won’t help you.”

John nodded. “It’s as you say, a good theory.”

Sherlock sat on the couch next to John. “I know I have the tendency to get obsessed.”

“Huge understatement.”

“I told you I need you. The work is thrilling and it charges my brain, but it isn’t everything. I will be here for you and JJ.” He looked deep in John’s eyes and analyzed his body language, “This is not all about the work.”

“Sherlock…I kissed you last night.”

“Yes.” He said as he indicated with his hands for John to elaborate.

“And you didn’t …well I thought maybe you would have…”

“I hate when you do that. Complete a thought, will you?”

“You were supposed to fuck me last night you idiot!”

“I thought just this morning you accused me of moving too fast.”

“I said moving into my room was too fast. But I couldn’t believe after we shared that kiss that you didn’t want to do more.”

“Recovering asexual freak remember?” Sherlock snarked.

“Don’t say that about yourself!”

“Fine but you have to admit I’m not that experienced with sex. I assume we will work up to it, but sleeping in your bed? Holding you and being able to watch you sleep? I don’t need to work up to that.”

“So you are saying you are ready to be emotionally intimate but not physically intimate?”

Sherlock put his hand on John’s thigh. “I would do anything for you. If you want me to as you so eloquently put it, “fuck you”, which I highly doubt you are actually ready for, then I will gladly do so. John I have waited years to see you again, to laugh with you and yes, and even to fight with you. I don’t want to muck it all up. So how should we proceed?”

John put his hand on top of Sherlock’s that was resting on his thigh. “You are right. God. You are always right.”

“Not always.”

“But about this you are. I am scared.”

“You said that previously.” The dark haired man said in a slightly bored tone but then smiled devilishly in John’s direction.

“Yeah.” 

Sherlock leaned in a kissed John. The kiss quickly deepened and soon they found themselves entangled on the couch.

“What. Was. That. For?” John panted as he tried to get his breathing under control.

“An experiment. Yesterday when you said you were scared about our new feelings towards each other, you kissed me and then you weren’t scared anymore. I wondered if that was because you took control of your fear or if it was just the kissing itself. I guessed that it would be different if I was the one who kissed you. Which way is it?”

“Umm…I don’t think it matters who starts the kissing…I liked it either way.”

“So it would appear that as long as you don’t think about what we are doing and we just indulge in our passion you will be fine.”

“Until the morning after.” John said as he shifted his body away from Sherlock.

“You do realize that you live here. You can’t do the walk of shame, John.”

The doctor chuckled. “I’m surprised you even know what that is.”

Sherlock shrugged, “This is all speculation until we actually have sex. You have no idea what either of our reactions is going to be. But I do know this, I enjoy kissing you and that’s more than I ever experienced with Irene.”

“I’m still not sure if I want to know about you and Irene’s sex life.”

“Yes you do, it’s written all over your face.”

“But it’s bad form for a significant other to ask about their lover’s ex.”

“She isn’t my ex. I needed information on Moriarty’s men. She wouldn’t give it to me unless I slept with her.”

John gave the other man a skeptical look, “Irene extorted sex from you?”

“You make it sound as if having sex with me is a fate worse than death.”

“No I didn’t mean it that way, it’s just that Irene doesn’t seem to be the type to be wanting in the sex arena.”

“I suppose she saw me as a challenge. I believe I am the only man that she hadn’t conquered. It didn’t sit well with her.”

“That’s it? You two seemed to have a connection, I thought you were in love with her.”

“I have to admit I might had been charmed by her in the beginning, she is fascinating – never boring that one, but she is ruthless and I can’t trust her. I could never love someone I can’t trust.”

“You told me once that I was the only one you ever trusted.”

“And that you are my only friend, I remember.” Sherlock smiled and he touched the side of John’s face. “Can I kiss you again?”

“God yes.”


	12. Chapter 12

The dry heat was suffocating.  There were bullets flying past him and he was hunched and moving quickly to try and make it to the soldier who had been hit.  There were the sounds of shooting and men screaming and groaning were muffled and all he could hear was the pounding of his heart.  When he finally reached his fallen comrade, he gently turned the man’s body so that he could assess the damage.  When he felt for a pulse and found none he looked at the man’s face.  His heart stopped.  Then he screamed.

“NO!!!!  SHERLOCK NO!!!”  John screamed as he twisted in his bedding.

Sherlock embraced the doctor and rocked him against his chest.




“Are you alright?”

  “It was Afghanistan, but it was different…you were there.  I couldn’t save you.  You died.”

“I’m right here.”

John sniffed and wiped his tears.  “I know.  It was just a nightmare.  Oh, JJ’s crying.”  He moved to get up from the bed.

 Sherlock reached out and wiped a stray tear.  “Wait here.”

He quickly left the room and came back with a red-faced JJ who was sucking on a pacifier rapidly.  Sherlock gestured at the blue plastic item that was sticking out of his son’s mouth, “Baby cigarette.”  John smiled and nodded, “Yeah kinda.”

Sherlock sat down near John and shifted JJ on his lap.  “See your Da-Da is fine.”  John smiled at the little boy who reached out to pat his guardian’s lips as to ask where his pacifier was.  John lifted JJ from Sherlock’s lap, “I’m sorry if I scared you JJ.”  He put his head on top of the child’s to nuzzle him.  He rocked him for a moment and they all sat in silence.  When it was apparent that JJ was dozing off, John moved to get up to take him back to his crib, Sherlock said, “We could all maybe sleep in here.  It might help if you know you aren’t alone.”

~*~

Sherlock awoke suddenly when he felt someone touching his cheek.  His eyes widened and he pulled away when he saw the manicured hand first and then the bright emerald shine of green eyes that belonged to Irene Adler. 

"Irene."

"Well isn't this nice.  The whole family all together."  She said as she gestured towards John and JJ.

"I didn't think you were the type to like home and hearth.  What do you want?"

John stretched and then shot up out of bed when he felt there was a foreign presence in his bedroom.

"You..."  John stood and pointed his finger. 

"Hello there, Dr. Watson.  I see you've met your namesake.  Has he been a good boy?"

"He's fine.  Doing quite well for someone who was kidnapped and then sent into guardianship."  At this point JJ having been jostled around awoke to the sounds of his parent’s voices.  He promptly started to fuss and John gathered him up in his arms to comfort him.

"Oh Doctor, are you accusing me of being a bad mother?"

JJ turned his head and put his arms out, "Ma-Ma." 

Irene took him from John's unwilling arms.  "My little John. How are you?"  She cooed.

"Strange that-- _you_ being maternal.  When were you going to tell me about his existence?"  Sherlock asked as he got out of the bed and moved towards John.

"When the time was right, of course."

"I told you John, she saw him as a bargaining chip."  Sherlock scowled.  "So Irene, what do you want?  John is practically itching to get his gun, unlike you he _is_ rather maternal and he already wants to protect his child.  Tell him that you aren't here for JJ so that he can unwind a bit will you?  I don't like the look in his eyes."

Irene turned to look at John and smiled, "Oh, you are quite right I see.  I threaten his happy little home and you've only just returned.  How nasty of me."

"Irene..."  Sherlock warned.

"Fine.  You are never any fun.  Accept when I have you under my whip."  She winked at John.

At that John actually growled and moved forward.  Sherlock put his hand on his lover's arm to stop him from doing something rash. 

"I know he seems like someone you can toy with, but he is a soldier and he can remove that child from you quite quickly.  You will _not_ like his methods.  Do not test him.  Why are you here?"

Irene huffed and put her son down on the bed.  "I've found myself in a bit of a jam so to speak."

"You are always in some variant of trouble.  So it's something quite serious if you are here.  What is it?"

"Mycroft."

"Ah...he knows you are alive and he doesn't want you to be.  That is quite a pickle.  But why come to me of all people? Oh...Oh no, you can't be serious?"

John who had at some point joined JJ on the bed watching their interaction asked with trepidation, "What?"

"She thinks that by coming to me and showing Mycroft that we are a "family" he will back off."  Sherlock said shaking his head.

"It's worth a try."  Irene said as she put her hands on her hips.

"It is ridiculous."  Sherlock scoffed.

"It isn't.  You are his brother.  If you could just talk to him..."

"You believe that Mycroft cares more about family than his country.  You obviously don’t know the Holmes family history."

"He should have had you tried for treason for telling me that information."

"He probably would have if I didn't give him your phone.  I Am Sherlocked.  Really?"

Irene smiled and gave a little shrug.  "Can't a girl have a little crush?"

Sherlock ignored her attempt at flirting.  "You have made a miscalculation.  It is possibly a fatal one.  Mycroft made a mistake."  Sherlock shook his head.  "No. Two mistakes.  He let you and me happen and two he didn't kill you himself.  Good for me because I got the information I needed from you and if Mycroft had his way I would've never had the means to come back."

"Then I deserve your gratitude”,  Irene purred and licked her lips.

"You, my dear deserve nothing but scorn.  You are power-hungry.  I understand that. It isn't my obsession of choice, but to each his own.  I can put aside that you are a traitor, obviously, but to use me to create a child, so that you can trade your life for my son's?  It is beyond despicable."

"Yet it is acceptable for you to betray your brother to save my life?"  Irene asked angrily. 

Sherlock smiled slowly and Irene stepped back.  "You were willingly in camp with my enemy.  Why did you think I saved your life?  Did you think I was chivalrous? Did you think that I loved you?"  Sherlock asked with a dark tone.

"I..."

"You use people.  You find out their weaknesses and you exploit them.  You used me and I used you.  But I draw the line at him" he pointed at his son..."You will NOT use my son in your little games.  You are dangerous. And although I do enjoy a bit of danger, you are more than that.  You are toxic.  Now get out."

~*~

John took JJ to his crib and came back to his bedroom.  Sherlock was still pacing and fuming. 

John placed his hand on Sherlock’s chest and stopped him from moving.  He leaned in and put his lips gently on Sherlock’s and let himself be embraced.

“Better?”  John asked a few moments later.

“Yes.”

“Good, let’s go back to bed.”


	13. Chapter 13

The following morning Sherlock watched John as he examined Gladstone. The blonde man was obviously concerned. “That’s how she got in without Gladstone alerting us. She sedated my dog. She could have killed him...she could have taken JJ.   She is dangerous. Mycroft has threatened her, but what if she gets away? What are we going to do about her?”

Before he could respond, he received a text, “The situation is handled –MH” He showed the phone to John who shook his head.

“Unbelievable.”

“Now you know that’s not quite true, he’s more than capable of handling Irene.”

John nodded and put JJ on the floor so that he could crawl around. He went in the kitchen but had a watchful eye through the doorway.  Sherlock joined him. He started to make the tea and prepare theirs and JJ’s breakfasts. Sherlock sat and watched him.

“I’ve missed you. I don’t think I have really told you how much.”

John turned in surprise at Sherlock’s candor. He was rarely very open about his emotions, “I missed you too. I really hope you don’t ever traumatize me like that again. You have no idea, how much that hurt.”

Sherlock grimaced, “I have a strong idea. I didn’t exactly enjoy doing that to you.”

John nodded and handed Sherlock his tea. He left the room and came back with JJ. He placed him in his high chair and fed him his cereal.

“You are so good at taking care of him. It’s as if you have been doing it forever.”

“I had practice with you for a couple of years.”

“Funny.” Sherlock tilted his head in a mocking gesture.

“Are you going to eat?” John said as he pushed a plate of eggs and toast towards Sherlock. Sherlock was going to reject the offering until he saw the look on John’s face.

“Thanks.” He grumbled. 

“Like I said, plenty of practice.”

~*~ 

Irene knew she was being followed. She walked swiftly along the streets of London and took many winding paths in the vain hopes of them losing her trail. The clicking of her heels on the pavement were echoing in her ears. She used all of her tricks to try and confuse the men who were following her, but these were professionals and they seemed to be one step ahead. It wasn’t the British government as she originally expected. Not CIA either. They would have already shown their hands. Mycroft had smartened up. These were the real shadows. These were the people that were paid well to make sure undesirables like her were completely erased from the earth. It would almost be as if she had never existed. When another dark silhouette was reflected against a brick wall near her she began to run. Not that it mattered.

~*~ 

A few days later their favorite bureaucrat visited the Holmes-Watson household. Mycroft was perched on the edge of John’s chair in their sitting room, “Well you boys have definitely settled back in together nicely. Almost as if you never left, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sat back in his chair, “Thank you.” He bit his cheek and tried not to start a fight with his brother. He watched as JJ toddled over to his uncle and patted his leg.

Mycroft looked down at his nephew, “What is he doing?”

John came into the room and smiled indulgently down at the little boy, “He wants you to pick him up.”

“A Holmes, wanting to be coddled?” Mycroft looked at Sherlock accusatorily.

“Nothing wrong with a child wanting affection from a family member.” John said with a frown.

“But by me?”

“No accounting for taste,” Sherlock said with a tight smile. It looked like he was going to lose the personal challenge of not winding Mycroft up. “So if you aren’t here for a family visit, brother of mine, can I assume that you have information.”

“I always have information, but in this case I have information that I must share with you. I regret to inform you that Ms. Adler has passed away...again. This time I’m quite certain she will remain that way.”

“Really? And how did that happen?”

“As you know she had many dangerous associates. I suppose she crossed the wrong the one.”

“Hmm. That is unfortunate.”

Mycroft shrugged. “Not really.” He looked down at the little boy who’d given up being polite and was now trying to crawl up Mycroft’s long legs. “JJ …remind me, why did you choose such a plebian name?” He sighed as he lifted the child up and let him bounce on his lap.

Sherlock shrugged, “JJ Holmes. I actually like it, sounds like he will be an author. Don’t your think John? What else would you suggest? John-John is just as bad.”

Mycroft pressed his lips together, “Quite right. Well this was very…enlightening and all but I really must be going. Dr. Watson, could you please?” He said as he pointed down towards the child in his lap.

Sherlock reacted instead and picked up his son. He took JJs arm and waved at it Mycroft. “Say bye-bye to Uncle Meany, JJ.”

Mycroft scowled and rolled his eyes as he picked up his umbrella that had been leaning on his chair. “Good bye, Sherlock. Dr. Watson.”

When the door closed Sherlock muttered, “Good riddance.”

John chuckled, “Do you mean Mycroft or Irene?”

“Both.”

~*~

John woke to a warm body pressed into his back. He flipped over to see that Sherlock had sneaked into his bed again. He touched his lover’s curly dark hair and smiled. Sherlock’s nose wrinkled and he smiled in his sleep. A few weeks had passed and they had yet to have sex, but every night Sherlock would come to his bed and it had been enough to just have him near. However his libido had decided recently that enough was enough. He leaned over Sherlock and planted a soft kiss at the corner of his mouth. He gasped when he suddenly found himself flipped over unto his back.

“Good morning, doctor.” Sherlock purred into his neck.

“Jesus.”  John swore in surprise.

Sherlock slid his hand inside of John’s plaid sleeping bottoms. “Hmm, so nice and big for me.”

“Umm Sherlock, what are you doing?”

Sherlock ignored the question and slid his hand over John’s erection.

“What do you think I’m doing?”

“Feeling me up?” John asked huskily.

“Correct, and I would appreciate it if you would reciprocate.” Sherlock said before capturing John’s lips.

John slowly complied to his lover’s request and moaned at the mutual contact. “God, Sherlock…so good.” He groaned as he threw his head back against his pillow. Sherlock let his hands move quickly and sensuously and let his body move in sync with John’s. When the inevitable climax over came them, Sherlock let himself fall into John’s awaiting arms.

“That. Was. Amazing.” John panted.

Sherlock huffed and started to laugh.

“What?”

Sherlock turned to his side and touched John’s face; “You said that during our first case.”

John gave a soft him a soft smile, “Yeah, I guess I did.”

“I never told you that I thought the same of you. You are the only person who understands me, is patient with my idiosyncrasies and has a heart big enough to love me. You, Dr. Watson, are the one who is amazing.”

~*Fin*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that as much as I had fun writing it. Please forgive any mistakes that I have made. I had someone look over it for editing mistakes, but it seems that I still found some as I was posting. I'm sure I didn't catch them all.
> 
> This was my first Johnlock and I hope to improve with time. I am somewhat new to this ship, but I think I am going to love it. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.


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